Bloodied gauze muffled those first few words I ever spoke to her. There had been a fight the night before at the St. Charles Street Pub. A frat boy had taken liberties with the then-girlfriend of the bartender, a weapon or two had been brandished, and chaos quickly erupted amongst the habitually resigned patrons who frequented the Irish tavern. The brothers of Theta Xi tore through the place, upturning tables and barstools in use. Spilt pitchers shattered across the hardwood floor, and while making my cowardly escape I slipped and fell face-first into one of the ornate balusters that supported the handrail leading outside. The fall dislodged two bicuspids at the corner of my wide smile.
She thought it all rather funny.
We met on the street car as I traveled from campus downtown to the unfortunately located university dentists that worked on the cheap. The car was nearly empty, and she stood in the isle gripping the brass bar overhe